


Watch a man struggle

by LittleGreenPlasticSoldier



Category: Archer (Cartoon), Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Clones, Crack, Crack Crossover, Crossover, Cyborgs, Dubious Ethics, Fights, Fist Fights, Frottage, I'm probably sorry, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Sexual Harassment, Substance Abuse, Violence, inferred wincest, most of the wrongs you'll find in Archer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 04:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11328849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier/pseuds/LittleGreenPlasticSoldier
Summary: Dean tries to rescue Sam.  Pam has other plans.  Sam is Krieger's plans.  Also Cheryl's plans.





	Watch a man struggle

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful @seenashwrite has allowed me to jump in at the tail end of this challenge coz I couldn’t resist a bit of ridiculousness. I stole prompts 22, 52, 78 (bolded) from her 200 Follower Challenge, plus a bonus in-joke there for you Nash. 
> 
> As instructed, I’ve spend about two nights on this. Unbeta’d coz impatience.

“Sammy!”  Dean whispers and scuttles across the warehouse space.

“Mmmphph!” Sam muffles back, wriggling against the bindings, trying to see Dean behind him.

Dean pulls up at the chair, tucking his gun and making a start on Sam’s bound wrists.  “What the fuck is this shit?!” he stage whispers, not knowing how far the dark corners of the room really go.  “Goddamn it, I don’t have my pick kit.”

“Uph-hph-kuphmuh?!” Sam bucks against the chair.  “Phucking Huw Geen!!”

“Well it’s _zombies_ Sam, what the fuck combination lock were _you_ expecting the zombies to use?

Dean starts to inspect the chair, wondering if he can break it out from under his brother.

“Iph mo’ phom-mees,” says Sam.

“Huh?”  Dean starts tugging the chair legs, testing the frame.

“Iph mo’ phom-mees!”

“You know, you mumble. You’re a mumbler.  You’re lucky I haven’t cut your lips off yet.  You’ve barely got any anyway.”

“IPH PHYBORS!!!”

 _“SHHHHH!_ ” Dean hisses so hard he spits.  “Jesus fuck Sam!”

“It’s cyborgs!”

Dean whips his gun out, pointing into at the black beyond Sam’s knees, trying to see what woman said those words.  “Alright, step up sweetheart.”

“Okay!” says another.  “Calm y’farm cowboy.  She’s a little um…”

A red-headed woman shuffles forward, her knees clinging together, French-bun wispy with effort and brow shining with sweat. Her wrists are trapped between her thighs as he gazes longingly at Sam’s tall, strong form, gagged and bound in the chair.

Another woman - tall, blonde bun, very cute, and very hefty in a back-alley sort of way - steps up beside her and speaks quietly.  “She’s sorta incapacitated.”  Dean doesn’t lower his gun.  He and Sam glare accordingly.

“Your name is Sam?” the red-head groans.  “Ooooh, it’s so _common_.”

“And you are?” Dean demands.

“I’m Pam. This is Cheryl,” she gestures, apparently unfazed, “and she’s had a reaction to her cold medication, so don’t go expecting too much there.”

“Is she- Are you high right now?” Dean asks cautiously.

“Uh huh!” Cheryl peeps, nodding a few more auburn strands loose.  

Pam whispers to Dean behind her hand, “She mighta helped it along a little.”

“I got eucalyptus balm on my gums and some sherbet- Hey?!” Cheryl releases her arms from her groin and leans her hands on her knees as she pants.  It’s not doing the job, apparently, and she has something to say to Pam.  “How are you not just dripping from watching that man struggle? Huh?  Am I seriously supposed to just sit there, in the dark, and not touch myself while that man- that, uh GOD that MAN- I just, can I just? With your thighs?  Thighs usually work.”

Sam goes stock still and Cheryl says _Yes?_ with her face.

“Right, well, you wanna show us the way ouutta here?” Dean asks, as much to cover the time while he plans.

“You think we’d be here if we wanted to get out?!” Pam exclaims softly. “Nu huh!  You go out there and you’re gonna become cyborg fodder.”

“Cyborg what?” Dean snaps, matching her low volume.  He’s not sure what his gun is good for now and he’s frustrated with the situation.  Cheryl starts tiptoeing towards his brother. Sam can’t get his legs to close properly.

“Krieger’s out there!” Pam tells them. “He’s trying to start up a cyborg army and Sam here’s his first clone!”

“I’m phuckin wha!?”

“Uuuuh he’s so perfect!” Cheryl reaches out for Sam’s lap, pushing her palms up his body, then drags her groin right up his thigh, riding out his backwards jolt, the chair edging along the floor.  “WOOow, Yeah! Oh my _GOD!_  Pam!  You have to feel this body!  This leg is practically rural.”

Sam twists to see Pam, saying “Gon’ pheel ny ‘oggy.”

“Oh you don’t need to tell me.  He’s what, 6’4”, 200 pound? A runner too, huh? Yeah, Krieger’s got an eye for the outdoor-style hotties.” Pam talks to Sam, and Cheryl starts chewing Sam’s hair.  “I wouldn’t quite snap you like a twig, Sam, but a bitch might bend a branch, if you get me.”

Sam cracks his neck so that he can glare at his brother, and a second later Dean’s blinked into action.  He aims his gun at Pam and demands again.  “Help us get outta here and and we’ll kill Krieger for you.”

“Which one?!  He’s already got half a dozen clones of _himself_ around the joint.”

Dean curses through his teeth, stows his gun, and starts for a door.  Pam slides herself over to block him. “Nooooononono I don’t think so, Sunshine.  We’re staying here till the cavalry arrives.”

Dean’s almost red with fury now.  “What cavalry? We’re the cavalry!”

“Nope, trust me.  You’re the surly fish-outta-water eye-candy.  Not the calvalry, and the Cavalry is gonna blast us out.  We stay put.”

“Lady? Pam?” Dean squints at her to deliver the facts.  “I’m no good at stayin’ put.  I’m gonna get me and my brother outta here before that psycho can use either of us to make any zombie-cyborg-zomborg whatevers.  And I ain’t above movin’ you if I have to.”

Pam glances over Sam, sparing a thought for his poor upper arm now taking the brunt of Cheryl’s earnest grinding.   With a quick frown of indifference, Pam shrugs “Yokiedokie,” and grabs the collar of her button up shirt.  She rips it down the centre, shedding the halves off her shoulders and letting them hang from her trouser waistband.  

Her bra is practical, sturdy, and directs her bosom forward with WWII strength, but what Dean really notices is the tattoos, the sizable muscles beneath the generous form, and he manages to keep his feet still as he sways back.

“It was actually a body suit,” she explains. “It’s got snaps but honestly poppin’ a mooncup is easier than getting them undone.”

Dean starts to lean into the decision, a half shake of the head to steel himself.  “Step aside Pam, I’m gettin’ outta here.”

“Over my horny, defeated body, Bucko.”  She leans into a strong boxer’s stance, her shirt swaying by her knees.

Dean curls his lip in determination, and moves.  

And Pam meets him, threads her arms between his legs and over his shoulder to lift him off the ground - all 6’1”, 180 pounds of him - and take him to the wood.

“——–Oh!”

“YOU LIKE THAT HUH?”

Secrecy is forgotten; Pam starts laying into Dean while he’s still surprised.  “YEAH YOU TAKE THAT PRINCESS!” They roll into the darkness, where Sam can’t see, and fabric and bones drag on the floor.

“Mother! Fucking! Wench!”  

Cheryl starts laughing her head off. “Woah-hohoo! WOah my GOD!  SAM!  Look at them!   _He’s so tiny!”_

Pam’s laying into him, somewhere around the ribs.  “You’re feisty huh? I’m gonna lay you out like a  - oh geez-”

Dean’s wrangled an upper hand, or leg, something that’s got Pam struggling and she cries _Woop!_ before a great thud echoes about.

“GEAN!” Sam cries.

“You like that?” Dean grits, and the sound of skin on skin takes a smacking rhythm.  “Yeah? How’s that taste Pam?”

“Amhmhahm!”

“Yeah!” he puffs, “‘at’s salty! Innit! Woa-”

“Oh you want salt?”

“Oh fuck!” croaks Dean, from beneath something.

“Get a mouth fullo that sweetcheeks!”

“Aah _fuck_ that’smyass!”  Dean’s tone squeaks up the register.

“Sure is!” Pam yells, the both of them writhing on the ground.  “Cutest little behind I seen since Cheryl snorted yoghurt off the floor.”

Cheryl confirms it.  “ **Holy shit! Yogurt is amazing! Why have I never tried yogurt?!** ”

“You get off on sexually assaulting men, Pam?” Dean’s growling now, gearing up to take back control.

“Well, now,” Pam says, pretending she’s not losing ground, “it’s only sexual assault- if that’s where you have the sex- and right now you’re straddling my neck so I’m gonna call it even- HEY WATCH THE PIT HAIR.”

“Dean?”

The two of them roll again, flipping over like wrestling pythons and Dean’s free enough to wheeze, “One- one tick!”

Sam can’t see from where he is but it sounds like Dean and Pam are at an impasse, as though they’ve knotted themselves still.  “Dean, I-  Can you stop?”

“What?” Dean sounds like he can hardly breathe.  “How’d you get free?”

“Uh, Cheryl seems to be good at breaking combination locks.”

From their place on the floor, Dean and Pam can see Sam, standing tall, Cheryl monkey’d to his left, hugging his forehead, squeaking her body up and down the long muscles of his arm.  “Is she-?”

“Yyyep!” Pam’s sure. “And if you could just- a little to the left- I mean you’re a handsome man Dean-”

“What like this?”

“Nun’s _buns_ , that’s the stuff-”

_BANG!_

“WAAA!” Cheryl screams and Sam’s body falls to the floor.  Dean practically dislocates Pam’s leg to get himself standing.  His gun is back in his hand and pointed in the right direction, then falters as Sam, another Sam, steps into the light.  He’s puffing, windswept, jaw jutted, and handsome as all hell looking down at the clone of himself and the gaping woman beside it.

“Sam?” Dean gasps.

“Yeah!” he breathes.  “You found one of the clones.”

“How do I know you’re not a clone?!”

“He probably is,” Pam assures him, “but it probably doesn’t matter.  They are literally all the same.”

“‘Cept for, you know,” scowls Dean, “the _zomborg part!”_

“I meant _as each other!”_

“Wait! Is he a clone?!” Cheryl gasps, pointing at the body and breaks into bright delight.  “Yiiiii!  I always wanted to crank a clone!!”

“You better hope he’s a clone, else you fuckin’ murdered my brother!” Dean’s ready to attack something, he’s just not sure he should attack this Sam.

**“Is it murder if they were my own clones? I’m seriously asking.”**

Dean frowns hard.  “You’re not Sam.  He’s never that sassy at this hour.”

“Yep.  Totally was sexual assault,” mutters Pam.

Dean peers at Pam and twitches his head against the pain around his eye, the split lip.  She isn’t much worse off.

Cheryl starts to gather herself and crawl towards the new Sam.  “Oh god, he looks even better from the ground.   **Hey,** **will you choke me a little bit?** ”

Sam looks at her climbing over the dead man’s legs, and then at his supposed brother.  “We’re busy right now, yeah?”

“How many of you are there?” Dean asks, checking his gun for rounds.

“Pfff,” this Sam shrugs.  “Beats me.”

“I’m not dead!”

“WAA!”  “JESUS!”  “SAM?!” Dean shoves Cheryl aside and leans over Sam, blinking as the electricity behind the flesh wound sparks inside the metal skull.

“I’m okay see?”  The Sam cyborg clone smiles hopefully, pleadingly.  “Musta just hit my head.”

Suddenly light streams into the room and a new voice wails, “NOOOO!” The silhouette runs in and Dean stands, moving back, warily taking aim.

“Krieger! Sweet Jesus!” Pam starts. “What are you wearing?!”

Krieger, a slender, almost wiry man with a chestnut beard and a devil’s peak hairline, stands there considering the damaged Sam on the ground.  He wears high heeled shoes, a corset, a collar, and sturdy leather cuffs on his wrists and ankles.  “Is there just two in here? I lost one!”

“Holy shit dude!” Another man runs into the room, puffing from chasing Krieger. “How the hell do you go so fast in those heels?! You’re a fuckin’ gazelle!” He’s Bondishly handsome and leans on his thighs as he joins them.

“What the crap are you wearing Krieger?!” Cheryl wants to know too. “And why is it a size too big!”

“Well one of them got sad!” he cries desperately.  “So I figured some sex would perk him up and I was so sure he’d be a dom, but then he wanted cuddles and _I couldn’t find my cuddle outfit-”_

“Wait.” The man drags a finger across Krieger’s shoulder and sniffs it. “Is- is that maple syrup?”

_“I was compensating!!”_

_“Ants_ , Krieger!”

“It is _not_ a good lube,” Krieger offers, finger raised pragmatically as he looks each person in turn. “Just so you know.”

“Hey, who’s this?” asks the handsome man, gesturing to Dean.

Dean glares at everyone defiantly.  Pam sighs and does the honours: “Archer, Dean. Dean, Archer. Dean here is the brother of the murdered clone zomborg.”

“I’m not murdered,” says Sam the first zomborg. “And my brother is going to kick-”

“You can shut the hell up!” points Dean.

“Please tell me I don’t need to fight him?!” Archer asks Pam.  “You couldn’t Christmas bonus me into another fight right now.  And by Christmas Bonus I mean gifted grenade launcher.  Please do something different this year Cheryl.”

“Shut up!” Dean’s annoyed. “I don’t need to god damned fight anyone! Just help me find my brother!”  Dean directs his last words at Krieger, gun too, and Krieger holds his hands up at the fiery gaze.

“I mean, I could fight him,” Archer mumbles. “If y’want.  He’s kind of… alluring.”

“Yeah I’ve already had a crack,” Pam shrugs, rolling a shoulder. “He’s a nimble little bitch. Bitey too.”

“How do you guys even know each other anyway?” Dean mutters.

“Colleagues.”  “Friend of a friend.”  “Orgy network.  “A message board I think.”  “Oh I’m not actually here.”  “I’m new.”

Dean tilts his head back with the fuck-off look of a man spent.  He cocks a bullet into the chamber of his gun and nods at Krieger. “ **If a single one of these has left the building, I will personally sew you into a canvas bag full of rats and throw that bag into the river**.”

“Okay,” gulps Krieger, “then, you should know; one of them’s aquatic.”

“Hey, you’re right,” remarks the murderous Sam.  “I’m not your brother.  Look, my arm comes off.”

Dean raises his gun at the cyborg and shoots him in the forehead.  

Krieger gasps and grabs at his collar.  “My baby!”

“Okay I totally want to fight him now!” cries Archer.  “I’m so confused!”

Cheryl picks up the detached arm, hugging to her chest.  “Ya’ll just… go on,” she whispers, backing into the darkness.   “I’ll catch up.”


End file.
